


A Matter of Some Delicacy

by EarendilEldar



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Catharsis, M/M, Male Friendship, Relationship Advice, Romance, nonsexual bdsm, off screen BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 18:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17813537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: Celebrimbor has always said he would do anything for his beloved, but when Erestor has some needs that Celebrimbor is unwilling to meet, Celebrimbor has a difficult time figuring how to respond without losing the one thing that matters most to him.





	A Matter of Some Delicacy

_Ost-in-Edhil, 1295 SA_

Celebrimbor sat watching Erestor from across the hall.  The way he moved, as sinuous as ever, the way he carried himself so nobly in his well-fitted, scarlet robes… as if there was nothing at all amiss.  In a way, Celebrimbor had to admire it - that infinite, cool grace that his lover inhabited, no matter what.

But just at the moment, it left him deeply conflicted.  Erestor’s calm façade had always impressed and attracted Celebrimbor, but when he knew what was just underneath… it frightened him.  How could his placid, dignified, beautiful Erestor _enjoy_ … that?

Celebrimbor glanced up again to see Erestor chatting and laughing easily with… someone, on the council, whose name Celebrimbor really should have known by then, if only it wasn’t so irrelevant. 

“And what’s the matter with you, laddie?  I thought this was a very nice little dinner party.”

Celebrimbor glanced down.  Trust his Dwarven friend not to even _pretend_ to have the decency to ignore Celebrimbor’s mood.  Any Elf in Eregion would have simply cast surreptitious glances at him all night and smiled cheerfully when leaving and apologized that they didn’t get a “chance” to talk more through the evening.  Diplomatic.  Dwarves never were diplomatic creatures, though.

“Oh, and if the next words you’re planning to say are ‘nothing’s the matter,’ you can forget it.  You look about as happy as a miner who’s just found a Balrog in his mithril pit,” Narvi said.

Celebrimbor arched a brow.  “That is a way with words.  It is a wonder Dwarven poetry is not better known.”

“Perhaps if you learnt more Khuzdul you’d find it is.  But we weren’t speaking of poetry, Elf.  Come on, then.  Out with it.”

Celebrimbor glanced around.  “I don’t really want to speak of this here.  The matter is a personal one.”

“Just as I thought it might be,” Narvi nodded.  “Well, we shall talk elsewhere, then.  But talk we shall.  If I know you Elves, you’ve likely been fixated on whatever the problem is for months, or more likely years or even decades, but haven’t bothered actually attempting to do something about it.”

“No, actually,” Celebrimbor said petulantly, “As a matter of fact, it’s only been just a few weeks now.”

“Excellent!  Then you might stand a chance of sorting it out before it grows into a great, proper dragon and hoards all your happiness.  Here,” Narvi said, pushing a full tankard of stout into Celebrimbor’s hand.  “I’m sure wherever you’ll find to talk has none of this sitting about.  Lead the way, then, Elf Lord.”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes, but rose, deciding to take the drink with him.  It fit his mood more than delicate wines and rich cordials, anyway.  He decided if he was going to speak about what had been preying on his mind and heart, it was going to have to be somewhere well away from accidental eavesdroppers, which, of course, would be difficult to accomplish surrounded by keen Elven hearing.  The room up in the bell tower was likely isolated enough, he guessed, and it would at least give him some satisfaction to listen to Narvi’s grumbling about having to climb the long flight of stairs.  If he was insisting on drawing out Celebrimbor’s sorrows, he might as well bear some of his own!

“This must be some bloody secret you’re carrying around to have to come all the way up here to discuss it!” Narvi groused as Celebrimbor finally lead him into the tower room and shut the door behind them.  He half-hopped up into a sturdy wooden chair in front of a writing desk.

Celebrimbor just gave him a look and flopped (gracefully, without spilling a drop) onto a soft, comfortable chair.  The space wasn’t quite lavishly appointed, but it was at least generous enough to house tower guards… should any ever be stationed there.  He took a long draught of the dark ale and sighed, remembering the first time Dwarves of Khazad-dûm had shared this ‘stout’ with their friends in Ost-in-Edhil and how exceptionally drunk Erestor had got because no one had ever heard of a Dwarf ale as strong as cordial before.

“Ruminating hasn’t got you anywhere thus far…,” Narvi prodded as Celebrimbor looked to be sinking right back into his own thoughts.

Celebrimbor looked up again and shook his head slightly.  “I really haven’t the slightest notion of how to talk about this….”

“Laddie.  You’ve known the company of Dwarves for some time.  Have you ever seen one flustered by _any_ topic of conversation?”

“I have not.  But nor have I ever heard a conversation on the matter at hand.  With Dwarves or any other beings.”

Narvi rolled his eyes.  “So how can you be embarrassed of it?  You Elves are awfully silly about these things.”

“I shouldn’t exactly call it embarrassment.  If anything, I’d call it… well, I don’t know.  Fear, I suppose.  Heartsickness.”

“Ah.  All’s not well with you and your beloved,” Narvi surmised bluntly.

Celebrimbor glanced away and shrugged.  “Well, it is and it isn’t.”

“Oh, good.  Riddles.”

“Do you want me to get around to talking this through or not?” Celebrimbor snapped.

Narvi raised a placating hand and turned his attention toward his tankard while his friend, the great Lord of Elves, figured out the most elegant way to convey that the hammers of his bed chamber smithy weren’t hitting their marks on every strike.  As it was said, ‘With the rich and mighty, always a little patience’.

“You see, the thing is… in absolutely every way, all between us is… perfect,” Celebrimbor sighed unhappily.

“Oh yes.  I can tell from your conversation.”

“The trouble isn’t between him and me, exactly.  It’s more… somewhat external.”

“Uh huh,” Narvi grunted.  “And whatever it is, it’s something that bothers you quite a bit.  But he hasn’t appeared to give it a second thought.  Unless he’s just that charming a host, which is also possible.”

Celebrimbor shook his head.  “It’s both, I’m sure.  But, no, he’s not bothered.  It’s all entirely… normal to him.”

“There are a lot of different normals,” Narvi pointed out.

“You haven’t seen this _normal_ ,” Celebrimbor muttered.

“I get the feeling I shouldn’t.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Celebrimbor said miserably.

“What is it, laddie?” Narvi asked seriously.

“I cannot speak of this in detail,” Celebrimbor whispered, pressing a hand over his eyes.  “It’s too personal, far too intimate.  And yet, I don’t know what to do.  I don’t dare talk to anyone else, and I don’t feel right talking to you either – for you are friend to both of us.”

“There’s another thing about Dwarves,” Narvi said, taking out a pipe and tapping it on the arm of the chair.  “Ever known one to prattle tales once told?”

“Of course not,” Celebrimbor said.  He seemed to drift back down into his thoughts again.  “I always say I would do anything at all for him, I would give him anything,” he said quietly after a long while.  “But I can’t… not this.  And yet, I keep quiet and let it go on, out of my sight.  What does that make me?”

“Let what go on?” Narvi asked carefully.

Celebrimbor glanced up.  “You swear to me that you won’t speak a word of this?  That you won’t act differently with him?”

“May Lord Aulë burn my beard if I do either,” Narvi said solemnly.

Celebrimbor took a long breath.  “It’s… certain ways.  Practices, I suppose.  Something he says he… craves, occasionally.  And it terrifies me.  I saw the marks on him, once, and he was quite adamant that he was not hurt, but… I do not see how.  I’ve known battle, and I’ve never come out of it looking like that.”

“I believe I understand of what you speak,” Narvi muttered.  This was deeply personal territory, after all, and he was beginning to regret his insistence on helping his old friend.  “But, look, I presume the two of you have… discussed the issue, in some measure.”

Celebrimbor nodded.  “He spoke with me of it.  Asked if I would ever… participate in that.  I admit that I recoiled.  I could not think of any circumstance in which I could ever accept seeing him hurt.  He was quite understanding, but then asked how I should feel if he sought this… practice… elsewhere.  He assured me that it had nothing to do with matters of the heart, or even the flesh.  Likened it to consulting a healer for an injury or taking a massage down at the baths.  What was I to say?  That night he came back afterward… I saw the marks down his back.  I was so upset by that sight it felt like I’d been poisoned.  But he just calmly said he barely felt it at all and laid down beside me and fell into a sound sleep.  The marks were nearly gone by morning, but I’d lain awake all night.  All I wanted to do was hold him, but I was so afraid that my touch would cause him pain.  I’ve never felt more ignoble in my life, and that’s _quite_ an accomplishment for a descendant of Fëanor.”

“Should I be surprised to learn that you’ve said nothing of this to him?  How this upsets you?”

“How can I tell him that?  If this is something he enjoys, something that’s a part of him, I would not have him change for me, nor would I disdain his inclinations.  I fear too much that he would come to the conclusion that he would be happier with another of broader mind and more similar taste.”

“Now, lad,” Narvi said, hopping down from the chair to pat Celebrimbor’s shoulder.  “It won’t come to all that, surely.  You talk of how much you love him, but you’re a perfect fool if you can’t see that he loves you easily as much.  You said yourself that everything _between_ you has been perfect.”

“It has, and that confuses me.  He might be very reserved publicly, but he’s never withheld a jot of affection when we’re together, and that’s only increased exponentially since this all began.  I could swear I feel his love for me even more now, like the heat coming off a forge fire being stoked ever hotter.”

“You do realise, do you not, that you are going to have to say all this to him ere you manage to resolve this within yourself?” Narvi said. 

Celebrimbor sighed.  “I was afraid you would say that.  Could you not rather counsel me to take charge and put a stop to the whole thing?”

Narvi barked a laugh.  “Certainly.  But I thought you said you did not wish to lose his heart or change his nature?”

Celebrimbor groaned and dropped his head into his hands. 

“You say that he’s only grown more affectionate with you since he started, uhm, this habit?”

“Aye.  I wasn’t sure it was possible, but he has.  And the way I feel when he comes back and lies close to me… I just want to protect him, even more than usual.  If I ever found that someone had really hurt him, not even the Dark Lord could stand in the way of my retribution.”

“Has it yet occurred to you that there might be more to all this than the obvious?” Narvi asked matter-of-factly.

Celebrimbor just fixed him with a bewildered frown.  “Wait… just what do you know of this?”

At that, Narvi threw his head back and laughed so long and hard he was wiping away tears by the time he sobered.  “By Aulë!  You Elves really do think you invented everything!”

“I don’t care who invented it!  Melkor himself, for all I can tell!” Celebrimbor cried, his patience frayed entirely.

“Easy, lad, easy,” Narvi said calmly.  “In answer to your question – not very much.  But what I do know is that these things are always very different for each one who takes them up.  And, being so, no matter who you might talk to or what you might read, you’ll never get the sort of answers only your beloved can give you.  He’s the only one who can tell you why he wants it, what it provides him, or anything else about how he feels.  And it seems likely to me that his affection to you and your protective instinct are all a part of the whole thing, if only indirectly or consequentially.”

Celebrimbor sat quiet and pouting for some time.  “You realise this is a day I’ve dreaded since I first came here?  The day a Dwarf should speak wiser than an Elf.  Please forgive my shouting, and my mood.”

“You’re quite forgiven, but only on the condition that we can go back down and refill these tankards soon.  And as for speaking wiser, perhaps if you Elves learned to speak plainly that wouldn’t happen!”

“I daresay if we were a plain-speaking people none of this would be a matter,” Celebrimbor muttered.  He got up and made for the door.  “I have much to thank you for, as ever, my very dear friend.  Even without your advice, you’ve allowed me to unburden myself of something very private and delicate.  I stand in your debt.”

“Aye, you do.  And the day I get a wife and little ones, I shall call in that debt and routinely send them off to visit their dear uncle Elf-Lord.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes popped wide with dread.  “Valar, protect me!” he breathed.

* * *

That night, after seeing off their dinner guests, Erestor and Celebrimbor retired to their bedchambers.  Celebrimbor wasn’t sure if he’d yet worked up the courage to broach the imminent subject, and decided to delay it a little longer by taking Erestor’s hand and pulling him close. 

It was true what he’d told Narvi about wanting to protect Erestor, he thought.  Just looking at his beautiful lover sent a surge of protectiveness through him.  Unless, of course, the feeling was better named jealousy.  Whatever it is, all he knew was that it was no cruel emotion, but an overwhelmingly tender one.  He brought a hand up to gently cup Erestor’s cheek and leaned into a kiss. 

“Have I told you how much I like this new… tunic, robe… thing?” Celebrimbor murmured, stroking his other hand down Erestor’s arm.  It was a new design, closely fitted through the shoulders, arms, and upper torso, then more free to flow like robes, but without the usual shapelessness.  Crafted in a heavy, scarlet silk and embroidered with subtle vines of gold thread down the shoulders and sleeves, Erestor cut a truly stunning figure.  How many times had Celebrimbor thought that if only Erestor would accept a circlet atop his raven locks, his lover would look even more regal than Ereinion Gil-galad himself.  “Ever the most fashionable Elf of the Second Age, you are,” Celebrimbor said admiringly.

“You like what’s in it,” Erestor grinned, plucking at the hem of the garment as he dropped a kiss on Celebrimbor’s lips before slipping out of his arms and stepping into the adjoining washing chamber.

“With every fibre of my being,” Celebrimbor whispered.

“I _do_ hope you and Narvi weren’t renegotiating the timeline for completion of the road when the two of you slipped out of the hall this evening,” Erestor said from the bath as he washed his face and unbraided his hair.

“Now when have there ever been secret renegotiations of standing agreements between our realms?” Celebrimbor huffed, hanging up his dress jerkin. 

“At _least_ three times a year since 1250 when I began tracking them.  You have no idea how much consternation the two of you cause good King Durin and I every time you sit down with work plans and strong drinks!”

“Sometimes timelines have to be revised,” Celebrimbor said with a shrug as Erestor emerged, already changed into a dressing gown and carrying his neatly folded tunic and leggings. 

That was another thing that had changed lately.  Erestor never used to bother with dressing gowns in the bedchamber, he was entirely unselfconscious about his body.  Or had been.  Celebrimbor could only guess that this was due to the presence of marks on his flesh that hadn’t been there before. 

Erestor doused the lamp at the bedside before doffing his dressing gown and draping it over the foot of the bed as he laid down.

Celebrimbor stood for a moment, watching Erestor’s contented smile as he burrowed into his pillow like a lazy cat.  Always so elegant.  Finally, he shed his own leggings, kicking them toward the corner, and laid down beside the one he loved more than aught else.  He wondered if he should really attempt this conversation now, or if he should put it off, just a little longer, for another day.  His friend had been correct, though, plain-speaking would have prevented much heartache and Celebrimbor didn’t wish his love for Erestor to be mingled with unease any longer than necessary. 

“Eres, are you quite sleepy?” Celebrimbor asked quietly, reaching out to stroke Erestor’s cheek.

“Not very terribly,” Erestor said, shifting closer. 

“Do you… do you think we might talk?” Celebrimbor said, taking Erestor’s hand.

Erestor drew back only fractionally, clearly expecting something other than chat.  “Yes, of course, always.  What is on your mind, melethron?”

Celebrimbor closed his eyes and held Erestor’s hand a little tighter.  As a very young Elf, he’d watched the burning of Alqualondë; later he’d taken up swords against evil the like of which would terrify a Balrog – he had seen Ancalagon with his own eyes during the War of Wrath; throughout his life he’d watched those he’d loved fall to battle or pride or despair… but nothing had ever frightened him as much as raising a subject that could cause him to lose Erestor’s love.

Erestor’s thumb stroked tenderly over Celebrimbor’s work-roughened knuckles.  “What troubles your heart so, my handsome smith?” Erestor whispered.

“You,” came Celebrimbor’s equally-soft reply, before he realized how that must sound. “No… no I do not mean that.  _For_ you, rather.  That is… it’s not you, but….” Celebrimbor sighed.  This was never going to come out well, so he might as well just try that plain-speaking idea.  “Erestor, I’ve been sick at heart about this and not known how to speak of it.  When I saw those wounds on your back… and knowing that you’ve borne them again….”

Erestor took a breath and swallowed hard, hearing the hurt in his lover’s voice.  “I had thought that we’d found a compromise on the matter.  I know the sight of those marks – I would hardly call them wounds, though – troubles you, so I’ve tried to be sure that you don’t see them.  And then last night, when you came to bed and touched me so gently at my flank… I thought you had seen these and come to accept….”

Celebrimbor almost pulled his hand away as if it would burn Erestor.  “No, I hadn’t seen.  I didn’t know you were hurt there, I never would have caused you even more pain!  But you said naught and I thought only to comfort….”

Now it was Erestor who held Celebrimbor’s hand tighter.  “Celeb, your touch is always my comfort.  It is as I promised you that first night, the marks don’t pain me, not once it’s over.”  Erestor sighed.  “We’ve not talked properly about this, have we?  You see, I’ve felt such love and protection from you since I began taking it again, and I thought that meant that you knew….”

“That I knew what, Eres?” Celebrimbor prompted, half afraid to ask.

“That you knew… how important your part is in this for me.  That the only thing I want afterward is to be in your arms, loved and comforted and protected from fears I can scarcely even name to myself.”

Erestor’s voice had gotten so small that Celebrimbor had to concentrate carefully to hear his last words.  There was something in Erestor’s voice that Celebrimbor had not heard even a shadow of since that day Erestor had admitted his lineage when Celebrimbor first confessed his love – shame.  Now, _that_ , he would not have. 

“May I hold you like that now?” Celebrimbor asked.

Erestor bit his lip and didn’t look up.  “If you want to,” he murmured.

“I want to, Eres,” Celebrimbor said with fierce tenderness, gathering his lover into his arms and holding him so close that one hammer’s strike would fuse them together for eternity.  “I want to hold like this all my days, so that you may never doubt that I will love you and comfort you and protect you from anything you fear, forever.”

He felt Erestor tremble in his arms and his breathing grow quick and short and tears against his shoulder. 

“Sometimes I need this, Celeb,” Erestor whispered hoarsely.  “I need to just… weep.  I have – we _all_ have – seen so much.  I think for you it is different.  When you feel sad or helpless, you take up your hammer and tongs and find reprieve in your work. 

“Yes, that is true,” Celebrimbor nodded, his cheek rubbing against Erestor’s hair.  “But I find solace and comfort in your arms, too, beloved.”

“I know.  And you always may.  But I think that, too, is somewhat different, at times.  I know you seek my arms most when what bothers you is here and now, current, the work of the day.  It is the griefs of the past you exorcise at your smithy.”

Celebrimbor had never really thought of it like that before, but Erestor was right.  When the burdens of lordship weighed upon him, he sought refuge in Erestor.  When the fangs of his past gnawed upon him, he sought absolution in his work. 

“Tell me how it is for you, Eres?” Celebrimbor asked, stroking Erestor’s hair.  This was exactly what Narvi meant when he’d said that no book could ever explain these things.

“I seek your arms when remembering the ages gone, and when I feel… vulnerable,” Erestor said quietly.  “Your love reminds me that I’ll never have to be alone again and your strength reminds me that we are here, now, in new days of peace and prosperity.”

Celebrimbor kissed the top of Erestor’s head in agreement.

“But, for me… my work is so different to yours, Celeb.  I wouldn’t change it, negotiation is my skill and I revel in it, truthfully.  But, at times, it is such a challenge, to always be… correct, proper, tempered like the strongest mithril from your forges.  To always be the one to make decisions, to know _everything_ , to be in control of _everything_.”

“Then you must give me more of it, mela.  _I_ am Lord, after all, it is my work you are doing, my burden.  You must tell me when -”

“That is not the matter, Celeb.  I do it happily, you know this.  And mostly because you’ve no sense of it whatever and this realm would be no more than a tavern with very pretty doors if I left it to you.”

Celebrimbor took the verbal jab good-naturedly.  As long as Erestor was teasing him about his absolute incompetence in diplomacy, all would be well in the end.

“But it is these things from which I seek relief when I… go to take this treatment.”

Celebrimbor considered this for a while.  “Can you tell me more?  In what way does… does being… struck… marked… how does that bring you _relief_?”

Erestor held onto Celebrimbor a little tighter.  It was encouraging that his lover was trying to understand why he needed such a thing, but could he understand it?  Would it make him look differently upon Erestor?

“For a while, I am not the one in control.  I have no decisions to make, nothing to ponder over, no elegant refusals to formulate.  I simply give myself over, allow myself to be treated without a shred of dignity, feeling nothing but where the pain shall strike next.  I know it sounds frightening.  But for me, it is freeing.  It is agreed upon from the beginning what my limitations are, with the understanding that anything that does not breech that contract, I simply accept and submit to.”

“And what if something does breech the agreement?” Celebrimbor asked quickly.  He was trying valiantly to just listen and understand, but he supposed he would never fully suspend his protective instinct where Erestor was concerned, even for a moment.

“That is also part of the initial agreement.  If anything is more than I am willing to accept, there is a word I shall speak and everything ceases immediately.”

Celebrimbor was tempted to ask just who it was that Erestor had this agreement with, but he decided that the line between protectiveness and jealous lay in the vicinity of insisting on too many details.  Erestor was most assuredly a grown Elf and from all that he’d said, he knew what he was about.  This was no unconsidered undertaking for him and Celebrimbor decided that he had to trust his lover’s judgment of what was right for him.

“Celeb.  This is not something that I seek very regularly or frequently.  Until recently, I had not even thought of it in the last several hundred years.  It is only sometimes that I crave that release, and I should imagine that once I feel I’ve vanquished these demons, I should likely not seek such treatment for another few centuries or so.”

Celebrimbor nodded, accepting Erestor’s assurance that his lover’s marked body wasn’t something he simply had to learn to live with.  “But… when you’ve taken this treatment, and you feel, at least for the moment, unburdened… you still seek my comfort?”

“Aye,” Erestor nodded.  “Then most especially.  It has the effect of leaving me feeling very defenseless.  I suppose that laying aside all that vaunted dignity and control is like being disarmed by a very skilled warrior.  It can leave me open to fears and doubts that I would ordinarily never allow to entertain.  And then the only thing I want is your love and assurance surrounding me.  Before I knew you, I would sometimes spend days alone in my chambers afterward, because I had no one who I could turn to for comfort.  The… treatment… always seemed somewhat incomplete without that.”

Celebrimbor held Erestor tighter still.  “Eres, though I may never fully understand what this is or just how it helps you, you have my word that you shall always have my love, any time and any reason you should seek it.”

For the first time since they’d laid down together that night, Erestor lifted his head to meet Celebrimbor’s warm azure gaze.  “Thank you,” Erestor whispered as he pressed his lips to Celebrimbor’s.

Celebrimbor stroked Erestor’s long, silky hair and began to rub gentle circles over his back, as if figuring out that his touch was the necessary counterbalance of whatever had made the marks he’d seen there before.  “I shall love you forever, Erestor, and you shall never have to be your own comfort as long as I stand upon Arda,” Celebrimbor whispered as Erestor fell asleep in his arms. 

This, Celebrimbor now knew for certain, would be worth all those visits from Narvi’s future Dwarflings. 


End file.
